


Point of No Return

by chronicallytiredofyourshit



Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 11:54:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29982462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chronicallytiredofyourshit/pseuds/chronicallytiredofyourshit
Summary: Malcolm upsets Nicola (yet again) and has no idea what he’s done wrong.
Relationships: Nicola Murray/Malcolm Tucker
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	Point of No Return

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SweatingHerLadyBollocksOff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweatingHerLadyBollocksOff/gifts).



“Oh fuck! That was - fuck. I can’t... fuck!”  
Nicola’s thighs are still shaking from exertion as she flops back onto the bed and she knows, without even looking at him, that Malcolm is wearing that smug, self-satisfied grin.  
“You alrigh’ there, pet?”   
She reaches over to playfully slap his side but ends up resting her hand on his stomach; she delights in the way it falls and rises with each laboured breath and splays out her fingers across his sticky skin.

It’s the first time since they’d fallen into his bed - or maybe before that, when he pulled her onto his lap and asked her if she fancied dessert - that she’s able to think. She had been completely overwhelmed, utterly consumed by the way his teeth felt across her neck and how he whispered filthy compliments against her skin, his fingers between her legs.

And being so overcome with everything, she hadn’t even had time to wonder if this is what everyone else had been doing. Is this what she’s been missing out on? 

Sex had never been a big deal for Nicola. Not with her first boyfriend Pete (or was it Paul?) who slept with her once and never spoke to her again, or with the second, Max, who somehow managed to accidentally knee her in the stomach. And certainly, most definitely not with James. He did try to make it enjoyable for her. They were just so young when they met and he was, if nothing else, deeply inexperienced. Nicola didn’t exactly help the situation either; she had never been comfortable talking about anything anatomical and so it was easier for everyone concerned if she would just fake it. And she was fine with that. Really, she was! 

But now, finally asking herself if this is what she could’ve been doing all those years, she can’t help but feel a little... irritated? Disappointed? Fucking fuming?

“Hey, I can hear your brain going.”  
Nicola looks back at Malcolm and suddenly has the urge to start yelling about something, anything. The logical part of her brain tells her to calm down, to not have a meltdown in the bed of a man she was on top of five minutes ago. The issue is that part is becoming smaller and quieter by the second.  
“Is it always like that?” she asks, her tone more stern and demanding than she’d intended.   
“I don’t know what you mean. Did you not - was it not good for you?”   
There was something she’d noticed across the numerous dates they’d been on: Malcolm’s accent became stronger with anger but weaker with nervousness. She laughs at the realisation, which definitely doesn’t help her in looking rational.  
“No, it was great! I mean, fuck Malcolm, I had four orgasms,” she exclaims, her voice dropping at the mention of such a scandalous word, “who the fuck does that?”   
Malcolm looks at her with furrowed brows and his lips parted slightly in utter bewilderment.  
“Well, lots of women, I think. Not that I’ve slept with lots of women. Y’know, you enjoyed it. I enjoyed it. And I’m happy you enjoyed it. Are you happy? That you enjoyed it, I mean.”

Nicola let’s out a little huff as she sits up in the bed and Malcolm quickly does the same. By his expression, he seems to think she’s about to leave. She does consider it for a moment but decides otherwise and instead self-consciously grabs the blanket that’s been shunted off to the side, pulling it up to her chest.  
“I think I’m actually annoyed that I enjoyed it.”  
Malcolm opens his mouth to speak, closes it, opens it again and repeats this about three times before he finally settles on what he wants to say.  
“Okay. Okay. So, just let me make sure I’ve got this right. You’re angry because the sex was good?”   
Nicola is aware of (but unable to stop) her bottom lip beginning to tremble and tears starting to gather at the corners of her eyes. She nods ashamedly and looks down at her lap.  
“Hey, don’t get upset! It’s alright. That’s fine, s’okay. Don’t worry. Um, how about a drink, eh?” he stammers, tentatively getting up from the bed and edging towards the door, “You just wait right there. Must have some old brandy in a cupboard somewhere.”

***

“What is it? It’s half-past eleven.”  
Malcolm can’t help but let out a little sigh of relief at the sound of Sam's voice.   
“Listen, Sammy, it’s Nic’la,” he whispers, carefully peering down the hallway at the slightly ajar bedroom door, “she’s having a meltdown, in my bed of all places.”  
“Oh God, what’ve you done this time?”  
“I’ve not done anything! For once, I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong. We were just in my bed, ye know the drill, and then all of a sudden she gets upset. So, I ask her what’s wrong and she says, and I fuckin’ quote, she’s annoyed because she finished four times!”  
There’s a small giggle coming from the phone.  
“Finished? Sorry, Malc, for all your foul language I sometimes forget how ancient you are.”

He’s about to ask her to just be serious for one fucking moment and tell him what to do when he hears another, much more distant voice.   
“Is that Malcolm? It’s the middle of the night, for fuck’s sake. He does know you’re not his assistant anymore?”  
Poor Lisa. This wasn’t the first time he’d called Sam at a ridiculous hour, especially since Nicola reappeared in his life. He’d have to remember to send over some flowers again soon.  
“He’s upset Nicola again. Apparently, she said it’s because she ‘finished’ four times. He doesn’t have a clue what to do.”  
There’s another round of muffled laughter.  
“‘Finished’, is that what he calls it? Shit, and it’s not even midnight and they’re already done with sex. I didn’t realise he was that old.”  
“Excuse me, ladies, ye can take the piss out of my age anytime ye like if I can just get some help here!”

“Listen,” Sam finally speaks, Lisa’s chuckling still faint in the background, “She’s only been divorced two years. And she was married to that James Murray for, what was it, almost twenty? God knows what that does to a person. All you can do is make her some tea, give her a cuddle and talk about how she feels.”   
“Right. Just out of curiosity though, what do you reckon the chances are that I can get away with missing out that last bit?”   
“Goodnight, Malcolm.”  
There’s an abrupt beep as Sam hangs up and Malcolm scowls at the phone before chucking it on the counter.  
“Right. Tea!” he mutters to himself, crossing the kitchen to flick on the kettle, “tea, then a cuddle, then feelings. How hard can this shit be?”

***

“No brandy, so I got ye some - oh. You’re dressed.”  
There’s a deep pain in his stomach as Malcolm passes the threshold of the bedroom that he’ll later convince himself must just be down to a pulled muscle. Nicola sits on the edge of the bed, having collected and put back on her clothes and shoes, reaching back for the zip of her dress. 

“Are you going?”  
She finishes faffing with her dress, looks back at him and flashes a tight-lipped smile. Once again, there’s that harsh pain in his gut, and the sight reminds him of his mother because she’s always doing that - smiling when she’s sad. It makes him want to rip his fucking hair out.  
“Are you going?” he repeats just a fraction louder, hoping his voice doesn’t betray him as he attempts to sound collected.  
“I think I should.”  
In the silence that follows, Malcolm can’t help but note the faint remnants of red lipstick smeared across her cheek. He briefly feels an odd swell of something similar to pride, before Nicola notices his gaze and wipes her face with the back of her hand.

“Don’t go. Stay the night, yeah?”  
He should be ashamed, he thinks. The old Malcolm Tucker certainly would’ve been. Not of the fact that he’s standing there stark-naked and feeling like an intruder in his own home, although that is fucking embarrassing, embarrassing enough that he’ll leave out that detail when Sammy inevitably calls in the morning to find out what happened. He should be ashamed of the pure desperation in his voice, of the way he’s well and truly pleading because things are different now. He’s different now. 

He can sense the apology forming on Nicola’s lips and decides to abandon the mug on top of the dresser before going to rummage in the drawers beneath it.  
“Malcolm, I really think-“ she begins hesitantly, pausing when Malcolm holds out a t-shirt for her, “I think I should go. It’s just a lot and I can’t... I just can’t.”  
He opts not to respond, knowing if he did it would end up being something he’d end up regretting like ‘stay, I’ll do absolutely anything if you stay’.  
Instead, he runs a hand across his stubble and sits on the corner of the bed, feeling as if sitting right next to her would be some sort of violation.  
“Stay,” he finally whispers, looking down at his own bare feet, “I’ll go sleep on the sofa if ye want, and you can have the bed. Ye can’t be running around Islington all hours of the night, you’ll get stabbed by some prepubescent cunt on a bike.”

He’d have liked Nicola to have laughed, maybe that would’ve eased the new aching feeling that seems to be echoing through his chest, not replacing but instead working alongside the sharp pain in his gut to make him feel incredibly small.  
She doesn’t laugh, though. She stands, shaking slightly in those ridiculous heels, and comes to stand in front of him.   
“I just need time, Malcolm. I’m sorry, it’s all just so much. I’m sorry. It’s not you.”  
He manages to bring himself to look up at her and he believes her - foolishly maybe, he doesn’t know yet. Malcolm gently takes her hand in his and presses a long, solid kiss to her palm. In doing so, he can feel the slight dip in one of her fingers that can only be caused by wearing a wedding ring for many, many years. He has to remind himself that he must’ve felt this way, after Grace perhaps. He has to remind himself not to be selfish.

Far too soon, she slowly pulls back her hand and begins to walk away.  
“Your bag’s on the counter. Text me when you’re home safe. Please.”  
He feels her look at him again and he feels that smile. She mutters a quiet agreement and he listens to her heels tap across the floor and finally the soft click of his front door.

She stayed for him once. He can’t expect her to make the same mistake twice.


End file.
